


If Nothing Else I Can Dream

by slightlyjillian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Band Fic, F/M, Kid Fic, Second Chances, complicated friendship, rival bands, romantic meddling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-06-17
Updated: 2010-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>OZ</i> was a band on their way out which happened to find its way back into the spotlight. <i>The Lieutenants</i> could barely make ends meet, but that didn't mean Dorothy Catalonia was simply going to give up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had enough fun writing this that I wanted to leave it an open universe in order to return again. I've never bothered reading band fics, I have no idea what's the norm. Please enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving OZ, Nichol's found another way to play music. But is the work worth the cost?

"One of these days someone is going to appreciate us for our transparency," Jonah Walker cheerfully said setting the cords he'd wound together inside the bumblebee. His yellow and black gear stood out among the various odds and ends the other Lieutenants had collected into piles around the stage.

The crowd, if anyone could have called it that to start with, had abandoned the post-game concert within minutes of its beginning. Appreciating Mueller's machine-gun antics with the bass, a few of the more drunk women had stayed long enough to get escorted out for having disallowed electronic devices. Dorothy had said into the microphone that it was alright. But the contract had been specific, so the band had little influence over enforcement. The uniformed guards themselves had seemed more interested in the women than the band.

"Did you just say something?" Nichol grumbled pushing a guitar stand into Walker's arms. The curly-haired man didn't release his angry stare until Walker looked away.

Overhearing the exchange, Dorothy shook her head with weary exacerbation. Walker refrained from saying more at that moment.

Alex, somehow, always managed to have the drums whisked away before anyone else finished gathering their equipment. He had left the low stool out and occasionally did full twists with his blond hair spinning. A small shriek of delight broke the melancholy atmosphere. Travis was three. For all he knew, he was out past his bedtime. Alex never lost his patience for the child. Moreover, it didn't hurt that he'd played the entire set with his eyes closed. The stadium could have been packed with adoring fans for all he saw.

"Mamma." The child hanging sideways across Alex's knees reached toward Dorothy. The blonde woman glanced around and, deciding she had a free moment, took Travis into her arms.

The boy threw his arms into her hair and put his face close to her neck. Walker would have almost guessed Travis could be family to Dorothy Catalonia if he didn't know better. Not to mention, their features couldn't have been more opposite.

Walker walked to the back where they'd put the larger trunks. He glanced at Nichol to check for a reaction to his son's latest social blunder, but the quiet keyboardist remained impassive.

"We're glad you could make it," Walker broke the silence. He knew better, but unlike the others he trusted that Nichol's dark moods wouldn't end their relationship. "Dorothy knows that you have a harder time giving up the weekends than the rest of..."

"You don't have to," Nichol interrupted. He leaned both arms against the elevated case and looked up as if poised at the starting block of a race to escape wherever he found himself. "I'm not... it's not Dorothy or the band. Or Travis." He added the last with a glance at his boy. "I do this because I like to play, that's all."

"A little different than what you're used to, though." Walker reached out to grip his friend's shoulder. He was surprised to find the material of the t-shirt was heavy with sweat. "Are you okay?" Walker frowned.

"The lights..." Nichol made a dismissive wave with his hand toward the still burning spot lights. Then with the nervous instincts of a single father, he quickly noticed Travis alone along the edge of the stage. Nichol moved toward his son forgetting Walker completely.

Walker watched knowing he wore the half-grin that would have earned him a _wise ass_ insult when they were in college. But they weren't young anymore. They weren't getting any younger either.

His fingers brushed against the different textures on the keyboard case. Glancing down he saw the faded sticker. _OZ_.

***

Her first mistake had been letting Mueller have the keys to the van. Of course he had the most energy of any of them by the time the trailer had been loaded. Dorothy hadn't wanted to know the time. She wanted to be in her bed or at least dozing in one of the seats with her head on Nichol's shoulder. Instead, she found herself reaching between Alex and Mueller protesting their sudden stop for twenty-four hour fast food.

"Couldn't you at least let us get to the stateline?" She sat back bumping either of her arms into Walker and Hilde, the new audio tech who had spent most of the evening complaining at the arena staff for their lazy techniques.

"It'll be okay, Dots," Walker said soothingly, which was nice and just like the man, but at that exact moment she wanted to rake her fingernails across his irritatingly calm expression.

She exhaled heavily. Hilde twisted in her seat to give Dorothy more room and could be heard making low chuckling noises.

"What is it?" Dorothy asked.

Hilde answered, "It's not just the hair and the brooding temper, Travis and his papa both sleep slack-jawed in the same position. See?"

Dorothy didn't look. She was angry Nichol had put the carseat where he'd have to be alone.

All the same, she did watch her volume and hush Alex or Mueller when their jokes became too ruckus.

***

The doorbell sounded through the house in what seemed like mere moments after his weary face had met the cool relief of the bedsheets. Nichol sluggishly considered the various articles of clothing on the floor and found something pointed the right direction for his legs to get into. The hallway had some evidence that Travis had been out of his room, but the small body was clearly visible in the bed at just that moment.

Down the stairs, Nichol opened the door just as the obnoxious chime started again.

"Oh, you are home." Trowa Barton smiled as if he was happy to be standing on Nichol's front porch.

"Damn, bastard..." Nichol blinked with bleary eyes into the unyielding sunlight and indulged in more colorful language.

Trowa raised his eyebrow. He easily replied, "I'm glad to see you still have such a high opinion of me after all this time."

"He's sleeping." Nichol couldn't take back the words or the questions that would come next. He didn't trust his face to hide the mistake either.

Trowa pushed into the house, which made Nichol more alert as the blood rushed to his head in the fast spin to follow. Trowa said, "We usually have a pretty good idea about where you're taking Travis when you have him. If it was a problem, a bigger problem... well." He stopped part way up the stairs to watch Nichol pulling himself along the railing. "You can't keep a secret from me, Nichol."

"Never could," Nichol muttered. "You're just lucky that I don't hate you as much these days."

Trowa made a shushing noise. He scolded, "Do you talk like that around your son?"

"What do you think?" Nichol looked to where Travis had twisted in his sleep so that the blanket was tangled around his ankles and his arms were thrown over his head.

Trowa went in to consider how best to pick up the boy. Shaking his head, Trowa lowered his voice, "He must get that from you. Christine sleeps with a more reserved..." Then Travis was in his arms. "Well, I suppose you remember those details too. Une doesn't change if she doesn't have to anymore."

Nichol stayed where he stood. He wanted to carry Travis to the car and keep him just a few moments longer, but the boy obviously had found a comfortable position in Trowa's arms. So instead he told Trowa, "She might be sane now, but she wasn't always that way."

"I know." Trowa's eyes, even in the dark of the bedroom, appeared to reflect a sort of sympathy. "I know you did what you had to do..."

"Don't act like you understand what she was like back then." Nichol pinched his nose at the sleep deprived agony building into pressure.

"If nothing else," Trowa persisted. "You know what happened pushed her to get help."

"And what did I get?" Nichol winced at the whine in his voice.

Tilting his forehead against the sleeping boy's, Trowa answered, "You got him."

***

Dorothy didn't wake up until much later. She found Nichol sitting in the kitchen staring at a full pot of coffee that had gone cold. "He came for Travis already?" she observed. "I'm sorry I slept through that."

Nichol shrugged.

The mail was unopened in front of him, so she sorted through the advertisements and bills to find a letter from Relena. Running her fingers through her bed-tousled hair, she knew that a reheated cup of caffeine was needed in order to read through that correspondence.

He noticed her pause and had Relena's message opened before Dorothy could key in a time on the microwave.

"Dear Sunshine of my Soul," he started.

"It does not say that," Dorothy reprimanded.

"I can't believe it's been six months since I last danced naked at one of your wildly successful concerts..."

"Give me that." She abandoned the coffee, but Nichol kept an arm between her and the pages from which he read.

"Your beautiful voice leaves me panting for _more_..." he laughed, but from real humor and not the gloom of pain that typically followed losing his son to Une's custody. Dorothy seized the pages then and saw that the topic was accurate if not the colorful embellishments.

"Nichol, you should be grateful to Relena. She's the reason why you even met me in the first place." Dorothy took a spoon to stir her heated coffee mug.

"If that's how you choose to remember it."

"She has connections that could be good for the band," Dorothy reminded, practically. "Her friendship is helpful to us."

"Are they her connections? Or her brothers?" The depressed edge crept into his words.

Before answering, Dorothy reached for the curtains and pulled them away to let inside the sunlight. The dust sparkled like cheap promises, but they made her smile all the same.

She gently kissed his temple. "We all have to start from somewhere. As long as we're moving forward, that's good."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OZ had lost momentum with its lead singer on her way to a mental break down. Noin calculates their chances for recovery and asks Nichol to face the consequences.

^THEN^

"You probably don't want to hear this," Lucrezia Noin said to the figure sitting in the shadows in the hallway between the stage and the green room. "But I'm going to tell you so you don't lose sleep over it."

"No, I don't want to hear it," Nichol interjected, but it didn't matter. She had to speak her mind.

"You're fixated on the wrong thing here, Nichol. It's not that she's crazy or unfaithful," Noin sighed. "I don't think any of us have ever seen her try so hard to make something work. She had your kid, Nichol."

"That's supposed to make this better?"

She waited while an ear-shattering amount of feedback sounded from the stage. Her eyes had adjusted to the limited lighting so that she could make out his slumped posture. His head rested in his hands, but he had his face turned toward her.

"She can't be the person you're asking her to be," Noin finished.

"So that," he waved his hand in the direction of the stage. "I suppose _that_ was my fault. It's my fault that she went bat-shit crazy in the middle of the set. It's my fault that she broke down in the middle of a song. Then Barton took over the vocals... which just irritates. I mean, since when does _he get to_..."

"It wasn't just Trowa," Noin winced. Both Milliardo and Trowa had picked up the slack until Nichol pulled the woman back onto the stage. Until Une composed herself. She still hoped that they could pass it off as a re-imagining of their biggest single. OZ recovered pretty well after a melt-down. They'd managed in the past, each plateau launching them to a new height. But luck could run out.

"Right, fine. You're right." Nichol looked away. "I've tried being sweet to her. Then I took the advice we got in counseling to actually talk about her other marriage. But I have the distinct impression she's not got the best perspective on how that played out either... I mean, Treize couldn't have shit gold."

Noin laughed. The spontaneous noise went against her intentions, but then Nichol chuckled as well.

"The plumbing bills alone would have sunk the band," Noin added, briefly. "If you want to be with Une, you have to see her as she is. Accept who she is."

"She's a mess," Nichol retorted. Just as quickly, his humor had evaporated. "It's just that her lawyers have bigger balls than mine do and now there's _Travis_..."

"If you don't make a decision, she's going to tear herself up not being able to pull the trigger. You've got to do it." Noin shortened the distance and bent over to rest her hand on his shoulder.

"And what do I get out of this, Luce? I leave OZ. I leave her. I'm the bad guy."

Someone turned off the stadium lights and a greater darkness sank over the hallway.

"Who said the right thing wasn't going to hurt?"

^NOW^

The cell phone rang while he walked between rails. Still early for his train, Nichol glanced at the number and answered, "What is it now, Barton?"

Trowa's voice cut in and out. "She gave us the wrong hospital information. She's got Travis in the main pediatrics wing, not the Children's Hospital."

Nichol stopped, then stepped to the side in order to let the swarm of bodies to continue unhindered. He kept close to the paint-chipped wall and put a finger in his opposite ear to diminish the ruckus of other conversations. He calculated the new distance for his destination and sighed, "Good timing, I can still switch trains."

"You're taking this rather well," Trowa commented.

"No, no I'm not."

^THEN^

"I'm not sure what happened," Une admitted, reaching across Nichol's chest to hold him closer in their bed. "I just couldn't sing his words without breaking. We still don't know where he is. I'm not sure what he wanted from OZ that we couldn't give him."

Nichol didn't make a sound, but he didn't move away either. She'd asked him what he thought she should do. He had sustained her with thoughts, ideas and opinions before. But in that moment, he had looked up from holding Travis and said, "Go on to bed, Christine."

He had been a long time putting Travis down as well. The baby had been so good, not fussing at all which had made Nichol rather more perplexing. His frustration escalating the more Travis sweetly interacted with him.

"OZ was a nice dream," he said at last. When he moved his arm, she could rest her head on his shoulder.

"Just a dream?" She knew sleep was taking away the continuity of his thoughts. She considered them, but slipped further into oblivion.

"You should remember what you wanted OZ to be. Back when it was you and Treize..."

"Treize..."

Nichol's voice chased her dreams. "Yeah, remember what you wanted. Who you were when the Lady loved music more than anything. More than..." He was quiet a moment before continuing. "More than me."

^NOW^

"We can do the spot without you," Dorothy tried to keep a reassuring tone in her voice even though the muscles of her face twitched with repressed anger. "Remember that was my plan as soon as Trowa told us that he'd been scheduled to go in..."

Walker glanced at her from the driver's seat. They'd arrived at the radio station early and were hiding out in the parking lot so they didn't look like over-eager novice musicians on their first show. Which they inevitably were, unproven musicians about to go live on the air for the first time. Even scaled down, they would have done better with Nichol's confidence.

"It was never meant to be a full band sound. I'll just play around your part on the acoustic," she consoled for her own benefit as much as his.

Wherever Nichol had called from, the background noises muffled most of his speech. She caught a few syllables which made her more nervous than any live performance.

She twisted in the seat, away from the others, and mumbled, "I love you, too."

^THEN^

Noin would have been lying if she'd told the press that she was anything less than ecstatic after the weekend at Barge. Friday evening resonated with a groove that she hadn't felt since the early days when shows were coffee shops or holding back drunks in local bars. Une practically illuminated the stage. Her voice got stronger with each passing song and the crowd pushed back with unmatched volumes of their own.

Then on Saturday she'd come on stage late. And she was wearing the glasses.

The Lady was back. She wore a well-fitted black leather jacket and had tied her hair up into two reckless buns. Noin had sustained on the electric while the Lady casually appraised the audience.

Milliardo had raised his eyebrows then followed Noin's lead with a companionable thumbing on the bass. Taking his cue, Trowa's methodical drumming sent conservative electric currents under the already constant tremors of music.

"Right on. Right on the mark," Une had spoken her first words.

The crowd shouted back. "On the mark!"

"So you remember _On The Mark_ the song that put OZ on-the-map?" the Lady challenged.

Noin had grinned, letting the electric laugh for her along with the response from the people. She hadn't seen this Lady in some time. Music had to balance the insane with the genius.

Une turned to look at the band. She fixed a gaze on each of them in turn, giving approval. Which was when Noin had noticed Nichol had kept his arms crossed. His own eyes stared at some point on his keyboard. His sullenness was a stark contrast to the energy everywhere else on the stage.

Then Noin remembered. _On The Mark_ didn't have a part for keys. None of the first album had used Nichol's improvisation whatsoever. Those songs, long since rotated from the set list, had all originated during the Lady's relationship with Treize.

The Lady smirked, passing over Nichol as if he wasn't there. No matter what they'd rehearsed, she was going to sing old songs that night.

The light caught the buckles of her jacket as the Lady lifted her arm to point to the sky. "Are you ready?"

^NOW^

He cleared his throat to gain the attention of the nurses at the far end of the hospital counter. "I'm here to see Travis Nichol."

"They're in the last room on the right there, sweetheart." The petite nurse didn't look old enough to have completed high school let along a professional degree.

"Yes, I'd just checked. He's not there, and it was supposed to be a private room," Nichol said. The second bed had been empty but the other was occupied by a stranger and what looked like the full count of the child's extended family.

"Maybe they went for a walk?" Another nurse chimed in. "The little guy was doing really well."

"The procedure is over?" Nichol's fingers tightened on the counter. "Where should I look?"

"Follow me."

Nichol looked at his watch and endured the sore taste of remorse on his tongue. Dorothy should be in the interview now. At least, perhaps, they'd avoid the awkward obligatory OZ questions that came up whenever someone might recognize Nichol. Or more likely did a little research on the band members and came across the Barge fiasco.

A fiasco that propelled OZ onto their biggest comeback yet, from which they had yet to fall. Nichol, and by proximity _The Lieutenants_, couldn't seem to avoid being stuck in their wake.

Nichol had been watching his feet moving along the clean tile floor and stayed just behind the footsteps of the second nurse.

"Hi, Nichol." Lucrezia Noin's voice came from nearby.

He looked up to see his former bandmate. The blonde nurse stopped too.

"And Doctor Po, again. He's doing well. You did a great job with Travis." The smile on Noin's face pulled further into one cheek.

"Doctor?" Nichol repeated. Looking around he still didn't see Travis or his ex-wife, so he couldn't help but observe the heightened interest passing between the two women. "You're the doctor?"

Noin put a hand on her hip. "I see you helped us find the brilliant father."

"You're him? The keyboardist?" Sally tilted her head to study him anew.

She had to know. She had to be baiting him for a response. Nichol was tired enough that it took no effort to snap back, "I'd like to see my kid."

^THEN^

When the flood of ridiculous confetti fell shimmering through the lights, they covered the stage landing on their cheeks, sliding off their instruments and dropping on the empty bench by the keyboard.

Milliardo's tech, an older man named Otto, had produced a miracle finding some prerecorded synth to fill in the holes in the newer songs. Once the audio technicians rebalanced the levels on-the-fly the remainder of the Saturday show in Barge had killed everyone with the Lady's sheer might.

If Christine Une ask for applause, they gave it. If she asked for voices, she got them. Cheers of adoration came as free offerings to fill every space in between.

_This is what she's worked so hard for_ Noin's fingers flew over the musical bridge. Each song that evening became her new favorite as she learned to love music again under the Lady's pull. Even Milliardo seemed unable to wipe away the smile from his face, head back and basking in the lights.

"Last song!" Une skipped along the front of the stage. Outstretched arms followed her path.

Noin chuckled. The song briefly suffered a false start which caused Une to break into carefree laughter. The sound resonated through the room.

Glancing at Trowa, Noin watched him pick up the song again. But his focus, she noted belatedly, had been on the empty bench.

^NOW^

"Daddy! It's a car!" Travis slapped the plastic contraption which looked somewhat like a hybrid between a power wheel truck and a shopping cart. Trowa Barton leaned on the high bar. He watched while Travis ineffectively demonstrated the limits of the mock-steering wheel to his father.

"Hey kiddo," Nichol immediately knelt and ruffled the dark curls that had definitively marked Travis as _his_. "How's he doing?"

Trowa nodded while Travis babbled a lengthy response obviously failing to regurgitate the words he'd heard the doctor saying before. Trowa finished with, "He's recovering really well and we'll take him home soon."

"Where's she at?" Nichol looked around, but still kept his hand possessively close to his boy.

"Christine's sleeping on the chair back in the room," Trowa explained. "Listen, I'm sorry about the mix up. I don't think she knew what she was talking about..."

"Yeah, if you want me to believe that." Nichol kept his words chipper from all the underlying hostility. Then Travis had Nichol's undivided attention as the boy showed off the places where he'd been stuck with the IVs. "That's my brave, boy."

"I was very brave, Daddy."

^THEN^

_When asked about their artistic differences, Don Nichol forcefully responded with a direct challenge, "Christine Une wouldn't know quality music if it slapped her in the face. I'm cutting loose from the band."_

"I read that before I got into the shower." Wearing nothing but the hotel towel, Milliardo sat on the bed next to Noin who recited the magazine quote aloud. He leaned in to offer her a kiss, but she pushed away from his wet hair.

"He's going to annihilate his career this way," Noin pondered.

"But it makes for a lively continuation to the fresh start we got on Saturday. I didn't think we'd see Christine ever regain her confidence, but Barge was something new," Milliardo analyzed. "Maybe she's broken out of that reliance she had for Treize."

"A lesson we all could learn," Noin said, not looking at him.

Uncomprehending, Milliardo leaned back on his hands considering the future. "I wonder if we could use this momentum. The music is good again. But some fans love the drama. Une's relationships were the wrong sort of publicity. But if we had a proper rival in the music world..."

"Leave it alone." Noin set the publication down, then for the first time noticed the expanse of bare skin next to her.

"I wonder what Relena would do if we planted the idea in her head?" he pondered.

"Leave Relena alone," Noin whispered. "She's just a kid."

"She'd have a fair chance. He wasn't a _bad_ musician. Just unmarketable."

"Leave politics alone." Noin pushed him into the bedding.

Milliardo gave the ceiling an amused moment of contemplation. "I suppose you're going to tell me how many day's it's been..."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of going home after an OZ concert, Nichol and Trowa hit the bar.

"You guys are, like, celebrities, yeah?" She had the sort of blonde hair that looked like it came from sunlight or a box. At that exact moment, Nichol didn't care which, he liked blonde. Moreover while she wasn't quite in his lap, she had set her drink down next to his. She was close enough to their booth he could smell her perfume.

"I think they recognize us, Nikky," Trowa said, mocking. He knocked his hand against Nichol's arm causing him to slightly lose his balance even while sitting.

Nichol opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn't quite decide which obscenity best suited the circumstances.

"One too many my friend." Trowa slid the beer toward the girls. One of them took it as an offer and started to drink it in a rather manly fashion. Nichol stared and overheard Trowa make a murmur of surprise.

"Nice Hilde, but I don't think these are your typical guys." The blonde raised her eyebrow.

"No, my darling. We are not your typical guys," Nichol smiled happily. "Hear that, Barton? I think they're onto us."

"Really?" Hilde said with a shrill disappointment. Her wide eyes drifted between the two men sitting side by side in the half-circle booth.

"This is priceless," Trowa breathed a laugh. He pinched Nichol's chin turning his face toward Trowa for a close study. "Yeah, they think we're going to make out."

Nichol furrowed his brow. The words Trowa had said made little sense. He pulled free and looked down at his shirt and jeans. "What is it?"

"C'mon, Hilde. I think they want to be alone." The blonde shook her head. Then she flashed Nichol a brilliant smile. "Too bad handsome, I was all wrong about you."

"Hang on," Nichol continued in confusion. "What just happened?"

"Eyeliner." Trowa pulled in his lips to bite back a laugh. "You're still wearing it."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothy has a new song for _The Lieutenants_ and a scheme of her own.

They sat in the living room sipping tea and giggling like girls. Nichol caught the sight of them mid-laugh. Dorothy had put a ribbon in her hair, which was ridiculous and then some until he saw that Relena had done the same. He wouldn't have noticed except they were both brilliant neon shades of green and blue respectively.

Dorothy's gaze shifted to nail Nichol in the doorway. He faked a laugh and hurried on his way to do, well, something else. Possibly in the garage.

^^^

"Beautiful weather we've been having lately," Relena commented. "I should see if I can find any outdoor festivals for _The Lieutenants_."

The sunshine coming in from the bay window warmed the carpet but little else. Dorothy was certain that Nichol had reset the thermostat again. She crossed her ankles and sipped the tea. She had something to ask, but it required some delicate maneuvering.

The noise in her throat filled the gaps. Then Dorothy asked, "Did _Five Loudmouth Robots_ sign with anyone yet?"

It was Relena's turn to hide behind her beverage. Her cheeks turned a rosy pink that rivaled Nichol at his most embarrassed. Then the relative calm was broken by what sounded like a dying chainsaw.

"Oh my God." Relena spilled tea across her saucer.

Dorothy wanted to laugh, but scowled instead. "He refuses to have the lawn mower repaired. Claims he'll do it." Then she couldn't resist but add, "Men!"

Relena's ears turned pink.

"Don't worry about that." Dorothy shooed Relena's hand away from the pooling liquid. "Take a different one from the set."

"I don't know the answer to your question. I programmed Heero's phone number wrong. Again," Relena sighed. Her hands dropped into her lap, until she lifted one to touch her ribbon. "Quatre did pick up, one time. His number, not Heero's."

"Are they ever going to explain why it's _Five_ when they only have _four_?" Dorothy pulled her own ribbon free from her hair and let her fingers slide along the silk.

"Probably not," Relena relaxed. "They enjoy an air of mystery."

"Such as who's supporting them financially. Those pyromaniacs seem to burn through cash," Dorothy wove the ribbon between her fingers. "It's not you, is it?"

"No." Relena shook her head. "They don't need me."

"More to their mystery, speaking of which..." Dorothy began. "I have an idea I want to run past you."

"Anything," Relena smiled. The other woman wanted to help so much and so badly. She plotted and schemed and over analyzed, but in the end a simple nudge was what Relena needed in order to act.

"I think we're ready to open for OZ." Dorothy stayed still, savoring the flicker of doubt in Relena's eyes. "If you think about it, the idea is a good one. I bet we'd get a decent early turn out of people simply dying to see if Nichol starts anything. He's got quite the reputation for sabotage."

"I thought you said he was over that?" Relena interjected.

"Nichol wouldn't hurt a fly." Dorothy waved her hand. "But since when did the press care what my man is really like? Well, Nikky cares. But if they destroy him in the reviews, we sell cds. He understands that."

"I'm still not sure," Relena shook her head. "If OZ found out..."

"Why would they care? And who's going to tell them?" Dorothy noted a lack of reaction from the music business princess. A good sign Relena wasn't going to immediately run to her big brother with the news. "It'll be too late, and good fun."

"The Top List festival hasn't announced for the fall yet," Relena calculated.

"If you let the festival idea simmer around OZ?"

"They'd play it. I can definitely get you on stage. I'm good friends with the program coordinator." Relena's smile had returned.

"More tea?"

"Absolutely."

^^^

Walker pumped the pedal with growing frustration. "That's not it either," he gripped the guitar strings more tightly then stepped backwards into a solid body. Alex burst into laughter followed by the wheezing cackle of the bass player as Mueller clutched his stomach from the sudden impact.

"You're fierce when you're making new sounds," Alex observed. "But Dorothy says she wants to talk over a new song for the Top List."

"Another new one?" Walker dropped his voice, not wanting to be caught complaining. He stole a glance at where Dorothy gave them an impatient wave. "People don't even know our current set."

Alex shrugged, "She's been getting better at putting together music that doesn't suck."

Mueller nodded in agreement.

"I will play this recording loud enough your ears bleed if you don't get over here right now," Dorothy raised her voice. The polite edge of warning made goosebumps appear on Walker's arms. She sounded just like his elementary school recess monitor. They'd reserved a high school theater for their rehearsal space which only added to the memory.

Nichol already sat on the stage. He leaned back on his arms and only glanced up when Walker sat right next to him.

"What do you know?" Walker asked.

"I need help fixing our mower," Nichol replied dryly.

"Okay, listen. And think about what we could do to make this stick. Especially you, love." She gave Nichol a pointed stare. "Because this was written for a strong synth."

Alex raised his hand. "Did you write this?"

Dorothy hesitated, then answered, "It's mine."

^^^

"You know that's not why," Trowa said.

Christine Une rolled over and saw a shadow pacing in the light coming from the gap in the bathroom door. She should just go back to sleep, but her ears couldn't stop listening. He was on the phone with someone. Perhaps she had heard it ring.

"I don't know. I suppose it's possible," Trowa paused. Then as if he knew she was awake he lowered his voice. "Maybe."

She could sense the light change through the new darkness that sank over her eyelids.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," he apologized, taking care not too move too much in the bed. A nice gesture, if useless. His lips pressed against her forehead. It took effort not to crease her skin by frowning.

She had no reason to be angry. Une took a breath and then murmured. Her voice sounded faint in her own ears. Her head almost thought it could have belonged to someone else. But that was crazy.

The voice said, "Was that Nichol?"

"No. It was not Nichol."

"Liar," Une said, but regretted it. She didn't open her eyes. She couldn't look at him just then.

"I wouldn't lie to you," Trowa said as if from far away. "Besides, Nichol wouldn't call if would wake up Travis."

A long time passed, and she might have dreamed. Then Une sighed the tension from her neck and shoulders. She believed him.

It wasn't until much later that she remembered he never told her who _had been_ on the other side of that conversation.


End file.
